Perfect Man
by starhawk2005
Summary: Co-written with anaphalis on LJ. House and Wilson, together, make the perfect man for one Allison Cameron.


**Perfect Man **

**Authors: starhawk2005 & anaphalis**

**Summary: Co-written with anaphalis on LJ. House and Wilson, together, make the perfect man for one Allison Cameron.**

**Disclaimer: We don't own House, Wilson, or Cameron. Damn, all that money we're losing on porn royalties….  
Beta: Thanks and chocolate-chip cookies to the wondrous and all-powerful katakombs.  
Authors' Notes: Spoilery for Season 2 of House up to Failure to Communicate. And then it goes decidedly AU. Because we said so.**

Allison wearily pulls her head up from the toilet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She slowly, carefully raises herself to her feet, exits the stall. It seems such a long distance to the row of sinks, but she eventually makes it. Once there, she braces herself against the counter, staring at the pinched, pale reflection. Some days she's not sure that she still recognizes it.

The last two months have been... hell. Allison doesn't think she's ever been as manipulative, bitchy or _stretched_ as she's been over the course of her anti-retroviral treatment. It _has _given her a whole new appreciation for House, though. If his infarction makes him feel half as lousy as her treatment makes her, he's showing _restraint_ by not peeling strips of skin off the idiots they deal with.

She shakes her head quickly, trying to dispel the startlingly House-like voice. She doesn't remember 'Becoming the female version of the world's most tactless man' on that long list of side effects, although she's had plenty of ones that they _have _listed. Unfortunately, even coming into work adds to the problems.

It's the drive that makes her normal reaction even worse. Allison now has a whole new appreciation for patients undergoing long-term chemotherapy. It's one thing to read innocuous-sounding side effects like 'situational motion-derived vertigo' on a bottle or in a textbook. It's another thing to nearly pass out every time she gets behind the wheel of her car.

Allison finally forces herself to exit, leaning her head against the cool metal of the bathroom door to let the last of the nausea recede. She's started coming in at ungodly hours of the morning to conceal the worst of the effects from her co-workers. After all, who would be dumb or crazy enough to be in the specialist office area and working at 5:30 in the morning?

"Cameron?"

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson."

She turns around slowly, defeat overcoming her. And she had been doing so well too. A few more weeks and nobody would ever have known how badly she'd been reacting to the cocktail.

If she doesn't test positive, that is.

"You look... Are you having problems with the cocktail?"

To her surprise, Allison feels a tight ball of anger and resentment building inside her. How dare he ask something like this _now_? She's nearly gotten through the damn thing entirely on her own without anyone pushing her for any kind of information on her condition. Where was he when she was terrified after her initial exposure? Where was he when she was lost and confused and nobody would offer a sympathetic shoulder? Where was he after she got strung out and slept with a co-worker, who has since found several underhanded ways to make her pay for every barely-remembered second?

With a little effort, she manages to keep her voice even and calm. She hopes he'll get the hint and let them both get on with their morning. "It's just a side effect. The nausea should pass in a half hour or so."

Wilson's lips tighten. Apparently he's not going to let it go. "Your pupils are dilated, your hands are shaking, you're as white as your coat and there's a layer of sweat on your forehead. That's not even considering the nausea! And you've obviously had this happen before. Why haven't you reported this? How can you live like this?"

"You'd be surprised what you can live with."

He flinches. Suddenly Allison loses her anger and resentment, leaving her drained and exhausted. It's not Wilson's fault- if anything, he's shown the most concern of _anyone_ since this nightmare started, even if it is just routine. All she really wants to do is get the insincere sympathy over with so she can go lick her wounds in peace. "I'm... I'm sorry. That was completely uncalled-for. I think they forgot to mention 'bitchiness' as a side effect."

But he's not starting into insincere sympathy. When she finally looks up to meet his eyes, he looks serious and... ashamed?

"No... I think that was exactly what was called for. Has anyone offered you any kind of support since your exposure? Has Cuddy even given you the names of the recommended counselors?"

Allison swallows hard over the sudden lump in her throat.

Damn him.

She needs to get out of here before she loses it completely.

"My consulting physician has been very helpful in walking me through the procedures-"

"Fuck!"

Allison blinks. Wilson the Soft-Spoken, Jimmy the Wonderboy Oncologist, didn't just _swear?_

She's obviously hallucinating.

Again.

"Fuck..."

Okay. Maybe she's not hallucinating. He's running his fingers through his hair and is practically vibrating with agitation. Hell- even his tie looks agitated.

Allison is just starting to wonder if he'd notice if she quietly backs down the hallway, when he spins back towards her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "There's no excuse but... I'm so sorry. You should never have had to deal with this alone."

And that's all it takes.

All the pain, the shame, the fear she hasn't been letting herself feel, that she's compensated for by putting on a brave face or by acting whiny or bitchy, finally boils over. She doubles over as the weeks- no, _months_ of pain finally render her a sobbing, defeated mess. Slowly, the fog of pain is penetrated by the realization that a) she's not curled in a ball on the floor and b) she's leaning against a tall, solid form that seems to be leading her backwards.

She doesn't have the energy to fight, even as she realizes that Wilson is drawing her into his office, over onto his couch. It feels so good to be able to cry, but (and she's ashamed to admit it), it feels even better to have someone hold her, to have someone rub gentle circles on her back. When was the last time she had affectionate, non-sexual contact? Even more shaming, the realization of exactly how long _that _had been makes her burst into a new round of tears. By the time she's wound down to a few stifled sobs, Allison feels a burning embarrassment replace the tightly wound ball of emotions she'd been carrying. She's humiliated that, on top of all the other unflattering situations Wilson's seen her in, he has to be the one to witness her final breakdown. She'll be lucky if he doesn't get her institutionalized.

Allison tries to pull back, to figure out some way to salvage a few scraps of dignity, but Wilson only tightens his grip and continues to rub her back as she relaxes against him. He seems to sense her awkwardness. Really, if she thinks about it, it makes sense that someone in his field would know how to handle a distraught woman. "I'm disappointed, Allison. After everything you've been through I was hoping for some tearing of the hair, gnashing of the teeth and rending of the clothes. Well, to be honest, I was particularly hoping for the rending of the clothes."

Allison can't help a half-sob, half-chuckle. "Since when are we on a first-name basis?"

As she looks up, he grins down at her, but his eyes are _understanding_. "You've just got snot all over my tie. I think we're well into first-name territory here."

"But it was an _ugly _tie, Wilson."

"Hey! That's 'But it was an ugly tie, _Jim_' to you."

She starts giggling, a little hysterically, bubbles of snot and saliva forming with every choking laugh. With the air of a magician presenting a rabbit, Wilson somehow makes a box of tissue appear. Allison proceeds to blow her nose, while feeling more than a little ridiculous.

Wilson isn't laughing though- he's looking at her with a wry, almost sad smile on his face. "When I told you that you'd be surprised at what you could live with, I think I forgot to mention that it didn't mean that you wouldn't feel like crap living with it."

Allison manages a watery grin. "Yeah. I think you forgot that part. Although I think I did a good job figuring it out on my own."

Wilson smiles and shifts to grab a piece of tissue, before bending over her lap to-

Oh.

Wipe some of the smudges off her face.

Allison feels very five.

But, although Wilson bent over her lap _does_ give a very interesting angle for many reasons, it also opens up the view of the other end of the couch. For the first time, Allison notices the pillow and blanket folded neatly at the opposite edge. "Are you staying in the office?"

A brief shadow passes over Wilson's face. "Julie filed last month. It should be finalized within a month or two and I'll be able to work out a more permanent solution. For right now, though, sometimes it's easier to stay here than in a hotel." And he's tired of trying to put up with House's stupid pranks, which always seem to occur whenever Jim tries to stay with him for more than a day or two.

Allison remembers their conversation before this whole mess started, and feels a brief prick of guilt- she's obviously not the only one who's been having personal difficulties. But wait a second-

"I thought that they recommended a year separation before final proceedings?"

"Under certain extenuating circumstances the procedures can be expedited."

Oh. Right.

"Such as adultery?"

He looks away, and Allison feels awful for the tired lines forming around his mouth and eyes. Which is why she is doubly horrified when the next question comes out of her mouth without any conscious control. "Are you still involved with the person who made you feel good?"

Wilson's lines become tighter. "No."

"I- I'm sorry. It's none of my business." Especially since she's still not sure if that 'someone' is male or female. _Especially_ since she's had a few suspicions as to who that 'someone' might be.

He turns back towards her and there's a tired half-grin on his face. "No... Actually, it's good to be able to talk about it. I think it's been even worse, not being able to let anyone but House know about the situation."

Allison means to say something comforting, honestly she does, but her mouth seems to be possessed by an evil gremlin. She thinks they should really include this as a side-effect warning. "Was it House?"

Well, on the plus side, Allison's never seen anyone's eyes get that large. And she's also never seen someone nearly choke to death on their laughter, either. After a minute of vigorous back pounding, she's starting to get a bit concerned. "Are you okay?"

Wilson sits up, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "_House_? Do you think that he would _ever _let me feel funny or intelligent around him? His _life _is a solo stand-up routine."

Allison smiles, even as she winces. "I'm sorry- that should have been obvious. I know I certainly felt like the punchline after his comments about me sleeping with Chase."

Wilson stops laughing as suddenly as if she'd thrown a switch.

"You actually slept with Chase? I thought that was just a particularly vicious rumour."

Figures that somehow this would be the one time that House _didn't_ tell Wilson all her most unflattering actions. Allison manages a weak, bitter smile. "You must be the only person in the hospital who _doesn't_ know for sure. Between House and Chase I think everyone's heard about strung-out Cameron's skills in the sack."

To her surprise, Wilson's eyes take on a hard glint. "You mean Chase slept with you while you were on meth?"

Okay, so apparently House did still tell Wilson about some of her unflattering actions. "Well, from what he's told me I called him to come over and I was coming on pretty strong, so it wasn't like he had a lot of choice. According to him it was pretty good though, so at least someone got something out of it-"

"Are you listening to yourself?"

Allison has never seen Wilson this upset. "Someone slept with you after you'd just learned you'd been exposed to HIV, while you were on meth, _you can't even remember most of it _and you're blaming _yourself_?"

Allison feels something lurch in her stomach at his honest anger. Chase's comments about sexual harassment had made her feel even worse than before but this... This is tearing her open again. Unfortunately, she has to admit the worst of it, even if it makes Wilson look at her with disgust, because she _needs_ to be honest. "But a part of me wanted it. To be wild, to take a risk, to do something un-Cameron like."

She takes a deep breath, struggling with the words. "I get so tired of being the 'good girl' all the time. Always doing the safe thing, the smart thing, the _careful_ thing. And then I get splashed with Kalvin's blood, and I start thinking that if I die because of this, how I've never really _lived_….But even after that, I still couldn't give myself permission to 'let go'. So I took the meth. The first in a bunch of bad decisions. And the rest is PPTH history." She paused, taking another exhausted breath. "And I'm just so…._tired_ of playing it safe. It hasn't even gotten me anywhere. I've got nothing to show for my life, except a husband. A _dead_ husband. And this career. But taking risks – taking the meth, having sex under the influence - has just made things so much _worse_." She finds herself fighting back tears once again.

"Come here."

He's not looking at her with disgust. In fact, he looks unusually intense and he's holding her shoulders so that she meets his eyes. "I told someone once that you couldn't control your emotions. This person was a lot smarter than me, though, and said that you _could_ control your actions. Taking the drugs was risky and stupid. Chase sleeping with you while you were stoned and couldn't give informed consent? That was verging on date rape, no matter your actions at the time. You made some bad choices, but you were emotionally vulnerable and that combined with being on meth..."

"Foreman laughed. House cut me down. And Chase told me I was a harassment suit waiting to happen."

Suddenly, she's pressed up against his chest again, her shoulders shaking a little as she relaxes into him.

"Your tie is going to get more snot on it."

"I've got more of them. Many of them even uglier."

She curls back up against his chest, but it seems that Wilson's tie won't have to worry about getting another coat of snot. This time it just seems like she needs a hug, as she slowly lets go of some of the guilt and shame of the past few months. They both sit in silence for a few seconds afterwards, but, as usual, it's Wilson who breaks into any potential awkwardness.

"I heard that House gave you a ride on his bike."

Allison raises an eyebrow at Wilson's studied air of nonchalance, as he tries to make the statement seem as if he's not remotely interested in her response. And fails spectacularly.

Wow.

Wilson's a nosy little busybody.

No wonder she gets along with him so well.

"Yes. I did. It was wonderful. It almost makes up for about two of the hundreds of ways he's made my life miserable over the last few months."

And damn Wilson, because he almost immediately catches exactly what she _didn't _want to give away.

"Do you still love him?"

Allison looks away, feeling angry and ashamed with herself again. What kind of sick masochist is she?

"You can't help your emotions."

Damn Wilson for just sitting there, looking knowing and understanding.

"But I want to!"

He's not speaking, obviously giving her a chance to explain herself.

"When I was dating David, we used to go dancing. This was before he got really sick, before I fell for Joe and the feeling... There was nothing like it. It wasn't necessarily sexual- it was just two people being perfectly happy in each other's company and letting go enough to enjoy it. I don't think I've gone dancing since David started serious treatment, so it's something that I hold as a particularly cherished memory. When I went on the date with House, I don't know what he told you but... He told me that I don't love, I _need. _That the only reason I married David was because he had cancer and was dying, as if I just had to pick a man out of the Terminal Illness or Permanently Damaged box in order to have a relationship. And I immediately thought of Joe and felt guilty about _that_ and then I spent _weeks _afterwards worrying over what House said, wondering if it was at least partially true. It was like the three months of dating, of _dancing,_ before David got too weak, had never happened. I think... I think I would give anything to not be in love with a man who can so easily taint my best memories."

Wilson looks tired, almost sad. "I know I said some very stupid things to you before that date but I thought... I really thought he was going to let go. And it's not an excuse but... House... House's not an _easy_ man. But he is a good one."

Allison sighs. "I know. Why do you think _I_ haven't been able to let go? Although if he keeps on the path he's going... It may become a lot easier."

They both share a look of mutual understanding. Somehow Allison finds it nicely ironic that, in spite of some strong similarities in their personalities, the thing that has really gotten them to start to know one another, has really shown their commonalities, is their mutual interest in House's well-being.

Wilson seems to be coming to a similar realization, as he changes the subject before things become awkward. "When will you undergo testing?"

Allison mentally pictures the calendar with the red X's, pinned to her bathroom wall. "In a month."

Some of the fear that she normally manages to suppress bubbles to the surface of her mind, the constant knowledge that, even now, the virus could be spreading through her system.

"Okay, Allison, mark your calendar. _We_ are going to go to dinner at the most sickeningly-overpriced restaurant in Princeton in four weeks."

Oh god... He can't mean-

"Not a date!"

He shakes his head, a half-smile twisting his lips. "Not a date. A celebration of you being dealt a bad hand, me making some stupid choices, and yet both of us still surviving."

For maybe the first time since she's been in the office, Allison feels a bit shy. She offers him a hesitant grin, even as she's ashamed of how quiet her voice is in reply. "I'd... I'd really like that."

Suddenly Allison has a horrible, nausea-inducing thought. She knows that they said it wouldn't be a date but... Wilson's just asked her to dinner, after discussing both her ill-fated experiences with House and the hellish situation with Chase. It's entirely possible that he now has as low an opinion of her as she has of herself, and has misinterpreted the conversation as her throwing herself at him. She stiffens and turns towards him, to try to convey that she's _not_ some kind of sexual predator out to attack every man in the department.

"I'm not..."

He forestalls her with a finger to her lips. "I know."

The compassion in his eyes makes her start to tear up again. This has _not _been a good morning for illustrating anything other than, 'I am Woman. Hear me whimper.'

"Hey..."

He pulls her against him, but Allison's pretty much cried out, and just lets his heartbeat soothe her, before pulling herself together again.

When she draws back, he looks at her thoughtfully, before pushing a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. "No offense, Allie, but you look like you got dragged backwards through a meat grinder."

"No offense, _Jimmy_, but you've got all the tact of House separated from his Gameboy or Vicodin. How did you get your job again?"

Wilson gives her an exaggerated wink and strikes a mock pose that involves doing something remarkably obscene with his tie. "My great sense of style."

She can't help it- the watery, hiccupping laugh is pulled out of her without any thought at all. Wilson smiles and then becomes almost solemn. "Seriously Allison, I think you should take the day off. You don't have a case right now and House's mentioned that paper you have to write. If anyone asks, I'll tell them that you were in, collected a few journals, and went home to research and write."

Reluctantly, Allison realizes that this is probably the best course of action, unless she wants to deal with even _more_ awkward questions from her less-than-sympathetic co-workers. In the process of nodding, she glances at her watch and realizes with ever-widening eyes that it's been two hours since she left the bathroom. If she wants to leave before anyone else sees her, she needs to go _now_. Wilson - no- _Jim_ seems to share her realization, as he helps her up and walks her to the door, his hand lightly brushing the small of her back.

They make it out into the hallway before she realizes that, somehow, she's wound up packing the box of kleenex with her. She awkwardly thrusts it towards Jim, but he just smiles and pushes it back towards her.

"Keep it. I've got more."

He's been so kind. And it was really nice of him to offer the dinner. Whether it was just out of pity or not, Allison knows she's going to need _something_ after doing the testing. Although there is still a six-month-to-a-year window in which she might develop something. Although she might be positive even now.

Oh god.

She might be positive.

She tries not to let her fears show, but he must have seen something because she suddenly finds herself wrapped in a gentle hug. It's extremely short and awkward, but when he pulls back she feels better than she's felt since the whole nightmare started.

"Hey. No doubts now. Four more weeks and we'll blow this popsicle stand for a dinner that'll make them have to roll us into the clinic. But only _after_ the dancing."

"Dancing?"

She knows that the stupid grin on her face must make her look even more ridiculous than normal, but somehow she can't bring herself to care.

"Dancing."

He gives her shoulder a squeeze and she swallows hard. It's so completely inadequate but she hopes he understands anyways... "Thanks."

"No- it really _is _my pleasure."

As Allison walks to the elevator, she tries not to think too much about the new feeling in the pit of her stomach. She really doesn't want to think about what it means that she feels... funny. Good.

Gregory House _had_ been having a good morning.

Okay, so he's no longer head of his department. But it's a temporary setback. Besides, if the last case is any indication, Foreman the Sacrificial Lamb is well on his way to the altar of slaughter. Cuddy might string the idiot along for awhile with hopes of permanency, but House _knows _Cuddy. The looks she's giving them both tell him as clearly as her twins bounce that House is going to be the one wearing the pants in the long-run. Besides, it's fun to be even less productive than usual- he's gained at _least_ fifty extra levels over the last couple of weeks, without having had to run funbag interference.

So not only will his professional life soon be back to a comfortable stability, but he's gotten Stacy over her unreasonable unhappiness with his actions. She'd as good as admitted that she still felt something for him, and so his world has now been restored to a smug, predictable equilibrium.

So what if he'd gotten the case wrong and Cameron, _Cameron_, had gotten it right?

So what if he hadn't spent Christmas with Jimmy?

He doesn't have time to worry about those things, anyways- he needed to come in early this morning to catch Stacy before work, maybe convince her to come to a lunch or supper so that he can work out his next plan of attack.

Of course, that had been before he'd been blindsided.

He couldn't hear the specifics of what they were saying, but the smile Cameron gave Jimmy after that hug could have powered most of the Eastern Seaboard. And that wasn't even counting the look Jimmy gave her as she walked away. He hadn't seen that Look on Jimmy in years. Not for Debbie in Accounting, hell not even for _Julie_. But the worst part of it was that he hadn't seen it coming.

He's not stupid or blinded enough to think that they've actually done anything. The down-shifted eyes, the pauses, the hesitation to touch- they were more awkward around each other than head-geared prom dates.

But there was _potential._

House wonders how he could possibly have missed something like that. When had Cameron and Jimmy moved beyond single-sentence acquaintances, to two people who looked at one another with _potential_?

He doesn't normally miss things like this.

They must have been meeting in _secret_.

And that- that is an excuse for the burning in his gut, for the anger that makes him clench his fist so hard he nearly draws blood, for the sudden urge to hobble over and _rip_ their arms away from one another because three seconds is far too long for a friendly hug.

Because _nobody_ keeps secrets from Greg House.

James Wilson is a nice man, but not necessarily a good one. A fact he is reminded of very strongly when he slides into his seat at the other end of the booth, and has to force himself not to stare down the cleavage of the beautiful, emotionally vulnerable, entirely-too-trusting woman he's accompanying.

"Jim?"

He can't do this.

Damn House and damn the psychic hospital rumour mill for letting House find out about this dinner in the first place. He _knows_ that Allison didn't say anything, but he guesses that they must have gotten careless while talking in public. Not that it makes any difference. He's never seen House that mad. Not even when-

"Jim?"

She sounds worried now and he flashes her a forced smile, which slowly melts into something much more genuine.

God, she's gorgeous.

The dress she's wearing flatters her, but he has a sickening feeling that at this point she could wear a canvas tent and it wouldn't make any difference to his attraction. The conversation four weeks ago had just cemented months of buried attraction and common interest. Unfortunately, it also gave his body permission to go on full alert every time she does anything remotely suggestive. Like breathe.

He's been very grateful for his labcoat.

It's all made him feel a bit sick. She's still having serious problems with the cocktail and she's emotionally raw, but his cock has been as enthusiastic about her as an unhousebroken puppy. He hasn't jerked off this much since high school and he's still leaping to attention every time she comes into his field of vision. If it were just a physical attraction, he could probably deal with it but... He'd already known that they had a lot in common, that she was smart and kind and easy to talk to. Talking to her on a regular basis though has just made that connection, that _spark,_ even stronger. The worst of it is, is that after her, conversations with gorgeous nurses leave him bored and drained. God, he'd just had an affair with someone who made him feel _funny_. Allison makes him feel funny and warm and needed and... He has enough of her trust that she lets him drive her in on the mornings the side effects are particularly bad. That, even if it's only infrequently, she'll call him when she needs help or just needs to talk. That she is so genuinely _happy_ when he invites her for semi-regular lunches. That she not only let him take her to dinner tonight, but come with her for the testing earlier in the day... It's all hitting a little too close to desires that he thought he'd carefully buried years ago. Being able to take care of her, have her trust, have her let him be in control-

Fuck.

And fuck House for making him face this.

"Do you not want the Bordeaux then?"

Allison has an eyebrow cocked and Jim realizes that both she and the waiter are staring at him expectantly. He has to force himself to nod as the wine is brought over for his inspection. He thinks he might have ordered the lamb, which would explain the red wine, but how can Allison expect him to remember anything when the rise and fall of her chest is _obviously_ intended as a hypnotic device? He can see the worried crease forming between her eyebrows, and realizes that he's going to have to come up with something. Telling her about House or the draw of her cleavage aren't options. Fortunately Allison waits until after the concierge has left, before giving in to her obvious concern.

"Jim... You seem distracted. Is something wrong?"

He feels another twinge of guilt. It's not fair. She's already had a hell of a day and he's making it even worse. He needs to pull himself together.

"I'm sorry, I think I may actually be coming down with something-"

Blue balls.

"And I'll just go get some water on my face and see if that helps."

Allison places a hand lightly on his arm. "Jim... We can leave if you aren't feeling well. I don't want you to get sick, just to keep me amused."

Damn House.

He gives in to himself, leaning across the table to press a light, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Believe me. There is nowhere else that I'd rather be."

Even as he walks away from the table, he feels a small spark of relief that at least that is the truth. It doesn't take long to get to the bathroom sink, splash his face with water, grip the edges of the counter in helpless desperation. He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, the tips of his hair wet.

What the hell is he doing?

He remembers the confrontation he'd had with House last week. He'd known, the instant he'd walked into House's office, that he'd somehow found out. After everything that had happened to put her personal life on display at the hospital, Allison had been understandably cautious about letting anyone know about their dinner, but he imagined that someone must have overheard something at one of their regular lunches. It had been the only explanation he could think of for the utter stillness of House's expression, only belied by his death grip on his cane. In hindsight, Jim wonders why he didn't even suspect that it had been a problem with Stacy, why he'd automatically assumed that it had been Allison at the root. He can only guess that he's always known that in the end it would come down to Allison, that when House was finally forced into some kind of Change, there was really only one candidate. He just hadn't planned on being there when the fuse made contact.

"So Jimmy, did Debbie in Accounting run out of ties?"

"No more of Stacy's personal files left to amuse you?"

It hadn't been a good opening. In hindsight, Jim can see that House had backed off his full-frontal Stacy assault since that ill-fated trip to Baltimore. The one that House was so close-mouthed about. Unfortunately, at the time, Jim had just been pissed off, on both his and Allison's behalves. How dare House interfere in _anything_ they did, romantic or not? Especially since he knew that Jim was legally separated. But House's face after the opening...

It's the only time in his many years of knowing House that he'd ever been afraid. Which made it even more shocking when House just... crumbled. When he finally spoke, there was only exhaustion in his voice. "I've been trying to figure out how I missed it. I had her all figured out and you- your shoes _always_ say yes. Then somewhere between Cindy Lou Who and He Who Could Not Speak His Name... You've been keeping secrets, Jimmy."

"You've been playing exterminator."

Jim knows he's in trouble when House just ignores him. "I don't _like_ secrets, Jimmy. And now that Stacy and I have successfully survived the single bed porn cliché with less action than I get from my left hand, I have a new interest in working out _your_ secrets. So I have a... _proposition_ for you. Considering how you've been eyeing our little girl like you want to see how many licks to the center, I think it might... appeal to you. And the green tie."

That was when Jim really started to get concerned. Due to a few... sexual experiments early in their friendship, House knew things about Jim that he wasn't comfortable with anyone else knowing. And Jim had a horrible feeling that it was all about to come back and bite him. He didn't realize at the time just how bad it could get.

"The nurses are buzzing about your special supper with my fellow," House had said. "How it is such a sweet and supportive thing to do after her horrible testing. I'm not sure what Jimmy's special plans for the night are, but I have an idea that might sweeten your deal, if you let me come as well."

Here House had leaned forward, his eyes glinting with unholy light. "You know she doesn't love you and she'll never seal the deal without it. As I see it we both have something that the other one needs, to get into her pants. She trusts you and she's in love with me. Together we make the perfect man for her, especially since she needs someone to take charge of her so that pole in her ass doesn't become permanent."

Jim had thought that House couldn't possibly be saying what he thought he was saying.

The first time he'd been in a threesome with House had been rather…innocent, if that was the word. He hadn't planned on tag-teaming some random woman with his best friend. But the three of them had been drinking in a bar, and House, as usual, had been pushing the envelope. Teasing, testing, seeing if he could get the both of them to agree to do something different and kinky. And Jim had gone along, thanks to his own damned curiosity and a generous quantity of alcohol.

As a result, he'd seen that House's need to control everything extended even into the bedroom. But Jim hadn't minded. Letting House call the shots had taken some of the pressure off, so why not let him have his fun? And their impromptu partner hadn't been complaining either, as Jim recalled.

There had even been a few other such escapades afterwards, but nothing since Stacy had first moved in with House. She hadn't been the sharing type, nor the type to give up control to anyone. But that had been fine with Jim. He hadn't really expected anything to come of his sexual adventuring with House. And he hadn't wanted to get between House and what seemed to be shaping up to be a long-term partnership.

But then the infarction had happened, Stacy had left, and House had turned into a bitter man. Which, all things considered, frankly had made Jim feel _very_ ambivalent at the prospect of 'sharing' with House once again. While this could be a 'good' sign, a sign of recovery on House's part, it could also go really _really_ badly.

And yet, even now Jim remembers how part of himself had been busy replaying the conversation he'd had with Allison on his couch, even as House had continued pushing the threesome idea. The fact that she'd wanted to take a walk on the wild side. And Jim remembers thinking that maybe this – having sex with him and House together - was something that she'd actually appreciate, actually _want_.

He remembers House continuing his argument. "Wouldn't you like to work with me to show our little girl who's in charge, now that she's all grown up?"

He was. Dammit, he _was_. But he also knew Allison needed to be protected. He couldn't let House use her like some kind of sexual pawn. She deserved better.

Jim had clenched his fists, some of the anger at months – no - _years_, of manipulation coming through in his voice. "Let me see if I understand this correctly. You've suddenly decided that after months of chasing your married ex-lover, that you're interested in the fellow you've been insulting for months, but you're not really interested- more pissed off because you think she and I have been keeping _secrets_ from you. Being upset about this, you decide the best way to resolve it is to crash a supper meant to make her feel better about her potential HIV status, and manipulate her into having a threesome with you and the person she's been leaning on for non-sexual, _moral_ support. And not just any threesome, but a display of domination so she'll know exactly who's in charge, even if you're not really interested. Have I missed anything?"

House hadn't met his eyes. "I never said I wasn't interested."

Jim can remember how his breath had caught in his throat, how he'd suddenly been forced to realize his _own_ feelings, even as he'd forced himself to ask the question he already knew the answer to. _Needed_ to know the answer to, before he'd even consider setting Allison up for something like this.

"Do you love her?"

"You're hardly old enough to be her father, Jimmy. Although it _does_ put an interesting spin on your constant hard-ons."

Jim hadn't let himself get side-tracked. "Do you love her?"

Even more surprisingly, House had given in, even if he refused to meet Jim's eyes. "I... care about her."

It was more than Jim expected to get. Getting it at all made him realize just how serious House actually was. More tellingly, for a brief moment, House had looked terrified. That, coupled with an admission that had obviously cost him, had forced Jim to take him seriously. He knew that House was manipulating him, but the underlying desperation shocked him, making his comeback much weaker than it should have been.

"I'd never have thought you'd be one to share-"

House's quirked eyebrow was not the reminder Jim needed of some of their earlier exploits, but it forced him to clarify.

"Share someone that you wanted as more than a one-night stand."

"Well Jimmy, as you've so nicely pointed out, _I'm_ not her guardian angel right now. If this is how I can cut in on the hot dating action, I'll take my chances. Otherwise, who knows- the next floppy-haired Brit boy she brings home might actually _stick_."

And damn him to hell, if the fear in House's eyes hadn't made him start to weaken his resolve, forcing him to try and concentrate on the pale, lovely woman who had been trusting him so much. House wanted this, wanted Allison, even if he had to act it out in this twisted way. Even if he couldn't enact it without his customary bid for total control. Jim decided to push, to test the waters, to see if he could glimpse more of what was lying underneath House's plans.

"She doesn't need mind games, House. She needs to be taken care of."

"Come on, _Jimmy_. Can't you see those gorgeous legs spread out on my bed, hands tied, staring up at us, so _grateful_ that she's about to be... taken care of?"

It was a weak protest and Jim knew it, but it was all he could think of over the rush of blood in his ears, that those mental images caused him. "She didn't even want a date. After dinner, she just wanted to go dancing."

House's grin had been positively _predatory._ "Who says she won't?"

In spite of the manipulation, he would never have agreed if he didn't _know_ that Allison loves House. And that she's wanted to take some risks, to _live_. To break out of the good-girl mold she's been in up until now. He tries to ignore the unfamiliar flare of jealousy and nausea that the thought invokes. He knows that Allison doesn't feel the same way about _him_, but she trusts him right now in a way that she can't quite trust House. And he knows that House is banking on that trust. So once again, it's Jimmy the Wonder Boy to the rescue, fulfilling his 'ethical responsibility' to his best friend, while at the same time hopefully bringing some happiness to a woman he's come to think of as a close friend and maybe even-

He closes his eyes in pain. The very worst part of it is, as House once pointed out, his sexual feelings and loving feelings are pretty closely intertwined. He knows that he's in over his head. He can pretend to be the impartial mediator, but there's an excellent chance that he's the one who's going to get burned.

The main course has arrived by the time he gets back to the table, and he smiles at Allison's concerned expression. If this is all he's going to get, he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

For the most part it works. The conversation is stimulating, the food fantastic and the company unmatched. He's almost forgotten the catch for the evening, when Allison suddenly freezes mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she fixes on a point just beyond his shoulder.

She looks towards him, her eyes huge and trusting, and he wants to tell her that this wasn't what he planned, that he hadn't done this just to set her up, but his tongue is frozen.

"Jim?"

He doesn't even look back, even as the first flicker of betrayal flashes through Allison's eyes.

"You missed the main course."

He can practically hear House smirking as he pulls up a chair and flops down with a lazy, studied grace.

"Oh, I'm not here for the _dinner_."

"Jim?"

He forces himself to look at her, trying to communicate, without actually _saying _anything, that he's on her side. "You don't have to do anything, Allison. You don't even have to stay if you don't want to. But I think that you might want to hear House out."

For a few seconds, she looks as if she might leave her finished meal and run. But Jim knows that Allison is, above all things, a curious woman and a loyal one, and he can see both things flickering in the shadows of her eyes. In spite of everything that's happened, Allison loves House and she will seize any excuse to give him a second chance, especially if House puts on a good show. And if there's one thing Jim can count on House to do, it's to put on a good show.

House leans back against the chair, the perfect picture of easy grace and confidence. Jim wonders if Allison also notices the slight tremour in the hand gripping his cane. "I'm impressed. This time I heard about the date from the nurses rather than Chase or Foreman. You've obviously _learned_ something."

What the hell is House doing?

"Such a quick learner deserves a _reward_. After getting the dinner as a reward for being a good girl and taking your tests, wouldn't you like to get a chance to go out with Jimmy and I and... dance?"

Jim stifles the urge to scream. She won't ever talk to either of them again. Of all the stupid, self-defeating tactics to take-

"You... you want to do something... with both Jim and I?"

House nods slowly, his eyes almost unnaturally bright. Jim can't help the rebellious envy as Allison swallows hard, her eyes tracing the contours of his face.

"Why? And why now?"

"You've grown up. You don't need my constant approval and you aren't afraid to strike out on your own. You're not quite as... simple as I thought you were, and it's made me rethink some things. Unfortunately you don't trust me as far as you can get a terminal diagnosis. If Jimmy-boy's there, though, you won't have to worry about me abusing your trust, because you know he wouldn't let anything happen that you didn't want."

Somewhere in the middle of the statement, House's voice has become completely raw, completely open. It's blunt, tactical suicide with an undertone of both pain and fear. And it's working. Jim watches all of Allison's carefully constructed defenses disappear into nothing. He can hear the desperate, final attempt in her voice when she responds.

"What about Stacy?"

"We've passed the good fuck and are into the vindaloo comparison stage. I don't like curry. I thought we could return to the pattern we once had. Well, that and the great fucking. Turns out, we didn't have the pattern I thought we did. She wants to have me in 'little doses', kind of like booster shots, when Mark ticks her off too much. As long as I drop everything else to run - _limp_, I mean - to her side. I want something more. And if I need to build a new pattern, I think I want something with a little less husband and a lot more acceptance for the asshole I am."

Somehow, without ever once stating his feelings or offering an apology for his treatment, or even an explanation for springing this now without any real prior warning, House's managed to pull Allison into the insanity. As he leans forward, Jim can practically taste the anticipation of the deal-closer.

"You need someone to take care of you. You've had a hellish few months. I'm never going to be nice or even considerate, but tonight I can help you take some of that stress off your shoulders, help you let someone else take control for once. Where it goes from there..."

Allison looks like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a striking snake. Jim can see the outline of her nipples against the top of her dress and nearly has to draw blood to bite back his moan. And just like that, Jim can see her final defenses fall. She's going to give in because she loves him, because she's wanted him for so long, because he's pushed all her buttons, but not because she's been given a fair chance.

Fuck House. Fuck 'ethical responsibility'. If this is going to happen, it's going to be because Allison wants it to happen. And that means she deserves to know the truth.

He leans towards her, cupping her cheek as he meets her eyes. "House is an idiot-"

He ignores the indignant thump from the chair across from them.

"But he really does care about you, and he's even willing to admit it now that he's somewhat pulled his head out of his ass. I know you wanted to let go, to _live_, to try something different. And I also know you've been under a lot of stress, with all the crap that's been going on. But you don't have to do anything tonight. I meant it when I said that this wasn't a date. If you decide to come with us, it will only go as far as you are comfortable with, and will stop at any point you want. I know how much you care about House, and I certainly don't need to be involved in this if that's what you want. Allison... I know it's a lot to handle, but I promise you that it doesn't have to be more than a night of release, a night to let go of the stress in your life and let yourself be taken care of." He lowers his voice, even though he knows House can still hear him perfectly well. "And I also promise that I'll protect you. This isn't going to end up the way it did with Chase."

She looks at him like she's never seen him before, but with a longing that nearly makes him choke.

He wishes she would stop looking at him like that.

"I trust you." she says, hesitantly. "You should have told me earlier about this, but... It's no secret that I... care about House, but you've been... I-I do want to think about something else, try something new. Let someone else take care of things for awhile, tonight. But only as long as you're a part of that."

There's a long pause, during which she stares into her wine glass, and Jim is aware of House shifting uncomfortably in his chair. But finally Allison raises her head, fixing them both with a steady gaze, and continues, "If that's all that we needed to do, then I'm ready to go dancing."

She's starting to rise off the seat, when House suddenly shifts on his chair again. But not with discomfort and impatience this time.

"Not so fast," House says, and Jim wonders what he's up to. "You -we- haven't had _dessert_."

Jim watches Allison smile a little. She relaxes slightly. But only slightly, because House then leans back in his chair again, openly ogling the creamy white cleavage exposed by her dress. Is he _trying_ to make her run?

He feels almost angry when, instead of making Allison run, House's gaze makes Allison's nipples form tight peaks against that indecent neckline.

He tries to pass the time before dessert by engaging his colleagues in conversation. Although only Allison talks. House just sits there and continues looking her over, as if he was a lion contemplating a very plump and slow gazelle.

"Jim," House says at one point, breaking into a conversation about the interesting and annoying that took place at the Clinic in the past week, "slide over next to our lovely colleague."

Now that the preliminary negociations have been settled, Jim knows this game. He's played it before. Not quite like this, mind you, but he knows House is in charge. Of both of them. House wouldn't have it any other way. So he slides over in the booth, stopping next to Allison.

"Kiss her," House orders, eyes still gleaming predatorily.

Jim turns and looks at Allison. Lovely blue eyes look back at him, before being lowered shyly. But then she licks her lips, and he knows she's comfortable with this. And he feels that spike of pain in his chest again, knowing that by doing this, he stands a good chance of losing her. But he can't refuse House. Can't refuse giving both of them the key to finally getting together. Can't refuse the intoxication of knowing what's coming.

He leans in a little, waiting to see what she'll do. He's a little surprised at how eagerly she closes her eyes and leans in to him, pressing her mouth against his. He's wanted her for a long time, now, but he never suspected that the sexual attraction might be mutual. That, despite her feelings for House, that she might harbour this kind of feeling for him, as well.

He can feel House's eyes on them, observing, assessing, _greedy_, and he can't resist putting on a show, his exhibitionist side taking over. Julie had never understood or accepted this part of him. He wraps his arms gently around Allison, and pulls her tight against him, lets his tongue move into her mouth. Softly he touches her, explores the inside of her mouth, tastes the Bordeaux on her tongue. He feels soft fabric and softer skin – her dress has a low back, in addition to the dipping front – under his hands. And he feels himself grow painfully hard for the hundred thousandth time in his dress pants, in spite of – because of – their audience.

When the dessert comes, it's chocolate mousse. One order, shared by the three of them. Symbolic, to be sure. And predictably, House has to push the envelope even here, scooping a bit out with his finger instead of politely, with dainty little spoons, like Jim and Allison. And then he sucks and licks the confection from his fingertip, moves his tongue obscenely, eyes still locked on Allison. And Jim, already back at his original seat, thanks to an executive order from House, watches her watch House. Her eyes fix on the movements of his mouth, her breathing deepens, her eyes grow glassy. It's been so long, Jim thought House had forgotten how to do this, how to 'stalk' in this fashion. But he doesn't seem to have grown rusty in the interim. That, or Allison's feelings for House are making her easy prey.

House prolongs the agony, continuing to perform cunnilingus on their dessert, until even Jim is shifting awkwardly in his seat. Not that he's ever had House that way, nor even really wanted him that way, but a dextrous tongue is a dextrous tongue. And watching Allison try to squirm discreetly in her own seat helps.

Jim finally asks for the bill in a hoarse voice, fingers drumming impatiently on the table, but smiles reassuringly at Allison, realizing that she's starting to feel nervous again. The foreplay, of a sort, is now over, and he can see in her eyes that she knows they're about to plunge her into something new. Unexplored territory, full of unknown dangers. So Jim smiles warmly at her, promising himself that he'll take her hand – even if House tries to order him otherwise – when they get up and walk out. He's here to reassure her, that's his job, as decreed by House himself. And he's going to see it through.

But after Jim pays, Allison takes a deep breath, and then actually gets up and hands him his jacket, her eyes first locking onto House's, and then moving to gaze into his. And she walks ahead of both of them, out of the restaurant, head high and proud.

Jimmy Wilson is not a good man, but he will tear House to pieces if he fucks this up.

They take House's car, the top down, and the wind combs caressing fingers through her hair as they drive. She's grateful for that, for the sounds of the traffic around them, as she sits in the backseat, both Jim and House sitting in the front seat. Effectively alone, it's tempting to scare herself, to wonder if putting herself at their mercy is a wise idea. She has feelings for House, no matter how hard she's tried to kill them off, but he's hurt her so many times, often carelessly, that being naked and in his power is more than a little frightening. She trusts Jim, but no matter how attracted she's been to him, she's never really expected their relationship to move into this arena. She's never expected them to take it to the next level, never mind one this extreme.

And yet, what Jim had said back at the restaurant was true. She's wanted to try something new, something a 'good girl' would never even dream of trying. Hell, she practically _invited_ sex tonight, by coming to this supposedly innocent 'non-date' in a strapless dress in the first place. Even after she'd told herself, over and over, that her little escapade with meth and Chase ought to have taught her differently. But she'd still given in to the urge to wear something revealing, to perhaps tease Jim just a little. If only because doing so would be 'safe'.

But it's true, she's gotten so tired of trying to control her feelings, control herself, after the HIV exposure, the meth, the sex. Of having to take care of herself by herself. Tonight she can let someone else take responsibility, take charge. And while she may not trust House alone with this, after everything that's happened between them, she does trust Jim. She's positive that he won't let House hurt her. Or _use_ her. The fact that Jim had even considered this – because she's _sure_ they discussed it in advance – suggests to her that this isn't just some random threesome roll in the hay. Because Jim, knowing everything she's gone through lately, would never allow it. Even if House won't admit to that much.

But it's still not easy. She trusts Jim, but she's not sure she trusts herself. Not after everything that's happened.

Still, as they arrive at House's place and disembark, as she and Jim stand waiting for House to unlock his front door, she knows she can't back out. She's never been in this kind of situation before – and doubts she'll ever get such an opportunity again – and that alone has piqued her interest, made her hot and achy under her dress. And she knows no matter what, Jim's going to keep her safe.

Soon, she's sitting in House's armchair. House sprawls on his couch, the perfect picture of relaxed laziness. Jim hovers in the background, looking nervously at House from time-to-time. When he's not looking around the room, or trying to meet her gaze. Obviously, Allison thinks, he's wondering how and when House is going to start this. Or maybe this is House's game, to offer (force) this scenario to (on) them, make them wait, and then back out once he's thoroughly frustrated both her and Jim. It wouldn't surprise her, not at all.

It feels like an eternity is passing, and Allison's almost ready to get up and leave. To tell both of them to fuck off. But that's when House speaks. "Come over here." He beckons to her.

She doesn't move at first, but his eyes gleam at her, compelling and raw, and she knows she's not going to leave. Not with a chance like this in front of her.

He doesn't shift position as she gets closer. Just reaches out to guide her down, until she's lying on top of him, pressed along his length. She hears Jim walking over and taking her vacant seat. He's watching them, she knows. And this makes her feel better. It reminds her that Jim will protect her from House. If that's what's required.

House reaches up, grabbing the back of her head, and then pulls her mouth down onto his. Their first kiss. It's chaste, lips closed against hers. She closes her eyes, the better to enjoy the burn of his scruff, the softness of his lips. But even when she tries to invite more, her lips opening against his, he holds back, not opening to her, not taking the invitation she's offering. And she's frustrated again.

His hands are on her hips, toying idly with her dress. So she lifts her upper body, pulls herself back from him. Or tries to. One of his hands shoots out, grabbing her shoulder. "Did I say you could stop, Dr. Cameron?" he asks, his voice a low dangerous growl, and she quivers inside. He doesn't wait for an answer, just pulls her in again.

It's time, she decides, to frustrate him. To do something only a 'bad girl' would consider doing. So when he has her lips almost within reach, she turns her head, evades him.

When he tries to pull her mouth back against his, she struggles. Not with her lower body – even now, she's still aware of his thigh, considerate person that she is – but with her arms, shoving his hands away, turning her head away from his. Pushes him. And she's aware of Jim's eyes on them both, hears him chuckling at one point as House makes another abortive attempt to get control of her.

But then House growls low in his throat. Big hands wrap themselves around both of her wrists, trapping them behind her back, and he's squeezing her against him, her breasts pressing tightly against his hard chest. Even then, she struggles, turning her head away, amusing herself by winking at Jim during one of these attempts. Until finally House uses one hand to keep her wrists prisoner, and the other to force her mouth back against his.

This time, he pushes his tongue into her. And she melts. He's all around her, warm and strong and holding her still. Just like she always wanted.

He finally releases her mouth, but not her hands. He stares at her, gazing intently into her eyes. "Jimmy. Give me your tie." he says, glancing over at the other man.

"Why?" Jim asks. And looking over at him, Allison realizes Jim is now less nervous, more playful. As if this is familiar territory for him.

Have they done this together, dominated a woman together, before?

"Because our dear Dr. Cameron is turning out to be _quite_ the handful. I want to level the playing field, crippled old man that I am. And we might as well put that ugly green thing to good use. So, tie. _Now_."

Allison watches from the corner of her eye as Wilson loosens and unknots the item in question, and then tosses it over to House. He catches it one-handed, before turning and gazing at her with those hypnotic eyes again. She has to fight to control another inner quiver.

"Dr. Cameron," he says, voice low and seductive, "I want to tie those naughty little hands of yours. With this." He gives the tie a little shake. But he pauses, face and voice becoming serious. "Do you consent?"

She pauses, considering. She's already outnumbered, at the mercy of two men. That ought to be more than enough, considering her fairly tame sexual history, to qualify as a walk on the wild side. Does she want to let House make her _helpless_, as well?

But she still knows Jim won't let anything bad happen to her. And she's starting to think that under the ice, under the abrasiveness, maybe she can trust House the same way. She trusts his medical judgement, she trusts that he does the 'right' thing. Is this any different?

"Yes," she answers him, her voice soft. She closes her eyes and lets her head rest on his chest, as he winds the cloth strip around one of her wrists, then the other, finally knotting them together, binding them behind her back. But a sudden sense of helplessness startles her with its intensity, and she has to struggle to calm herself. To remind herself that Jim's not going to let anything bad happen to her. Even if House _would_. And she thinks again that maybe even House wouldn't hurt her. Or not _that_ way.

House tangles his fingers in her hair, raising her face up for another deep probing kiss. "Go see Jimmy. His lap is getting a little cold." he orders, but not before he shoves his crotch up against hers, letting her feel just how much he wants her through their combined clothing.

She doesn't want to lose her balance and fall onto House, so she gets off of him slowly and carefully, edging herself back off the couch. It's hard to do with bound hands and high heels, but she manages it.

Jim's lap is as warm as House's, and he's obviously just as aroused, smiling at her. But he's more patient than House, letting her settle herself comfortably, letting her decide when to lean in and start kissing him, and he accepts the invitation of her open lips eagerly. He tastes different from House. House tastes like scotch and cigarettes, Jim tastes like Bordeaux and lamb. They smell different, too, she notices – different cologne, different skin and hair. And she's getting so turned on, her chest and neck getting hot and sweaty, and she finds herself squirming in Jim's lap, trying to press her aching sex harder against his leg. And she's still fully clothed, and no one's done anything more physical with her other than hold and kiss her. It's amazing.

"You look like you're getting hot, Dr. Cameron. We'd better make sure you don't collapse from heat exhaustion," House says behind her, voice low and amused. But there's less mockery than usual, she notes. "Jimmy-boy, help our lovely guest out of her clothes, would you? She's not dressed properly for _dancing_."

Jim looks into her face for a moment, and she knows he's checking in with her, that he's making sure she's ready to be naked in front of both of them. But she _is_ – she'll probably die if they don't make her naked and start to touch her all over – so she smiles at him and gives him a slight nod.

She lets him guide her up and off of his lap, and he stands next to her. She's facing House, so she gets to watch him as Jim strips her. Her dress and bra are strapless, so he doesn't bother to untie her hands. There's only the sudden rasp of the zipper on the back of her dress as he pulls it down, letting it fall to the floor around her feet.

Eyes gleaming, House pushes himself up to a seated position on the couch, taking in everything. And Allison watches him, watches the intent look in his eyes, watches his erection strain against the fly of his faded jeans.

Jim makes her step out of the dress so he can lay it out over the back of the armchair. He moves in front of her, still looking at her face questioningly, as he reaches around her to undo her bra. "Hey!" House complains behind him, "You're blocking my view!", but Jim ignores him, still watching her reaction. Once he's apparently satisfied that she's comfortable with the direction things are taking, Jim steps away from in front of her, now laying her bra neatly on top of her dress.

House's gaze practically _burns _her bare flesh. But she doesn't mind. She even feels herself respond to it, her nipples getting harder, distracting wetness between her thighs. He's not looking at her like a diagnostician right now, and she revels in it.

About fucking _time_.

Jim is back at her side, and she helps him, moving her hips as required, as he strips off her panties. At House's direction, however, Jim leaves her shoes and stay-up stockings alone. Probably he's a 'leg man', she figures.

Jim steps back from her, and now she has two men devouring her with their eyes. But it isn't as embarrassing as she might have expected. She's become the centre of their attention, practically of their world, even if it's just for this one brief moment, and that thought is entirely intoxicating.

House tears his eyes from her long enough to get himself up on his feet once more. She expects him to limp over and kiss her, touch her, but instead he turns away and starts hobbling towards the bedroom. As if on cue, she and Jim wordlessly follow.

Once in the bedroom, she watches as House digs into a dresser drawer, finally coming up with a pair of latex gloves. He pulls them onto his hands, and then tosses another pair to Jim, who has just stepped up beside her. And she glances over at Jim, thinking that he looks as confused as she feels.

"What are _those_ for?" she asks, turning back to House.

"Because, Dr. Cameron, in case you've forgotten, you might be HIV-positive. The chances are low, mind you, but there's no need to take additional risks. I'm sure Jimmy's ex-wives would be very angry if he gets infected and dies. Less alimony for them."

As if a switch has been thrown, Allison suddenly sees red. She's (mostly) naked and helpless and at his mercy, yes, but she's not going to lie down and be his doormat. Not anymore. "If you're so fucking _afraid_ of me, then why even bothe-"

But House hasn't been standing idly by. Moving with that occasionally-surprising speed of his, he's suddenly right in her face. He leans down and kisses her hungrily, silencing her angry words.

She can't push him away, with her hands still bound behind her back. Not that she really wants to. No matter _how_ angry she thinks she is.

He eventually pulls away, and she's breathless. And still confused. "You're wearing gloves to 'protect' yourself, and yet you still feel perfectly safe, shoving your tongue into my mouth like that." She snaps this at him, still annoyed, once she manages to breathe again.

"C'mon, Dr. Cameron, I thought _you_ were the immunologist here. You know that saliva doesn't transmit HIV. So kissing you isn't life-threatening. Vaginal secretions, on the other hand…" He makes a vague motion with his cane. "So some precautions – latex gloves, and, of course, some condoms later on - are the order of the day." He grabs her arm, pulls her towards the bed. "Relax," he continues, and favours her with a leer once he has her standing next to it. "Besides, why not have some fun with this? You can pretend that I'm giving you a gynecological exam, and that Jimmy-boy here is my 'naughty nurse' assistant. Won't that be _fun_?"

Despite herself, she smiles a little. Trust House to make her feel positively homicidal one moment, and shaky with anticipation the next. "What do you want me to do?" she asks him, and she can hear the breathy edge in her own voice. She clenches her thighs together, savouring the pressure.

"You? Nothing. Jimmy!" House hooks his cane over his elbow and then claps his hands together sharply, startling both her and Jim. "Kindly position our 'patient' for her 'exam'."

She learns then just how useful Jim is to House in this instance. From the smouldering look in House's eyes, she's sure he wishes that _he _could be the one picking her up bodily from the floor. That he could take her and lay her down on the bed, positioning her so that her ass is at the very edge, her legs bent and positioned as if they've been placed in stirrups.

Jim lays down beside her. He's still watching her face, still making sure she's alright with everything. She loses herself for a moment in that dark-chocolate gaze, only peripherally aware that House has pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed.

"Give her a breast exam, would you, Nurse Jimmy? It's 'an important part of this complete gynecological exam'. I'll focus my attention down here." House says, and she lets her eyes shift from soft brown to icy cyan. To meet House's leer. Before Jim bends over her and blocks her view.

She lets her head rest against House's comforter, closing her eyes. Hands that are somehow both cool and warm – cool latex, hot flesh underneath – stroke softly against her skin. They investigate the curves of her breasts, gently brush against her nipples. She moans and tries not to squirm. And she's very aware how wet she is, even more so as she feels House's slick fingers easing her apart.

A moment later, he chuckles. He hasn't done anything more than spread her open, the air cool on her moist skin, but somehow it's as arousing as if he'd actually started touching her, _stroking_ her. "Looks good enough to eat. A shame that we can't partake…but I promise, Dr. Cameron, when you test negative, we'll celebrate with an 'all-day oral party'."

She feels heat in her cheeks – Embarrassment? Anger? Anticipation? – but before she can reply, Jim stops in his exploration of her nipples and steps in: "She has a _first_ name, House. Would it kill you to use it?" And then he lowers himself down across her again, and takes one of her nipples into his mouth, suckles gently.

"Right," House says, but again, the mocking tone is much reduced from his usual. Allison almost wishes she could see his face. She's convinced she might actually see some tenderness in those hard crystal eyes, for once, but Jim's still blockings her view. But she doesn't mind all that much. Jim is sucking on her, and stroking her bare skin with gentle gloved hands, and it's too perfect. Enjoying it is more important than trying to find out if this means even more to House than he's been letting on. He's here with them, isn't he?

It's too perfect, that is, until House starts touching her, too. Long, clever fingers slide around every crease of skin, into every crevice. Two fingers push inside her, press against her inner walls, massage her. More fingers play with her clit, stroke and tease. She groans and twists underneath them. It's too delicious, too much sensation, and yet she craves it, wants even more.

When House stops teasing her, and orders Jim to stop, too, she's on the edge of losing it. So very very close to orgasm. She wonders if she can complain to Jim, if she can make him force House to make her come, if House intends to deny her climax.

But House apparently has another evil plan in mind. He gets up from his chair, and orders Jim to retie her hands in front of her, more loosely than before.

Jim winks at her, and then does as he's been told. When he's done, her hands are in front of her, green tie still looped around her wrists like handcuffs, but there's a little slack between them. And House is returning from another side-trip to his dresser. He passes something to Jim, and she just has time to realize it's a blindfold, before Jim gives her a reassuring look and wraps it around her eyes. She tenses a little, but doesn't otherwise fight it. She's given up control, it's all in their hands. And she trusts them.

She can't see anything, but she feels Jim get up off the bed, leaving her sitting alone on the edge. There's a quick whispered conference of sorts between him and House, but she can't make out what they're saying. Probably deciding what to do with her next.

Two pairs of gloved hands take hold of her, reposition and rearrange her. Soon she's on her hands and knees on the bed, in the darkness behind the blindfold. She trembles a little, not knowing what's going to happen next, and she has to bite her lip to prevent herself from asking them. After some unknowable amount of time, she feels the bed dipping in two places, one spot beside her and one behind her. There are breaths puffing against her cheek, but she can't tell who they belong to. Jim? House? She tries to lean into him, to determine if the mouth and cheeks around that breathing are smooth or roughened by stubble, but the owner eludes her.

She feels their hands take gentle possession of her body, sliding all over, probing, exploring. No sound but her noises – moans, gasps, groans – and their quiet breathing around her. With her sight taken from her, everything else is magnified, every touch tingling along her nerves, even if it's just the barest brush of latex against her skin. Or accidental contact with a clothed and unidentifiable body part.

She thinks they've swapped since her 'gynecological exam', that it's House who is now toying with her breasts, squeezing her nipples rhythmically between strong fingers, stroking his fingertips along her white flesh. And Jim behind her and between her legs, caressing the backs of her thighs, slow fingertips running between her folds and glancing across her clit. She shudders, pushing back against him, whoever it is. She almost eggs him on, almost pleads with him – with them – to touch her harder, deeper, more…but she stops herself again. Still encased in darkness, she's not sure who is who. Maybe it _is_ still House between her thighs, 'hogging' that part of her for himself. And maybe that's his game, now, to trick her into begging him for more. She'd be OK with begging Jim, but not House. Not yet.

A finger slides softly into her depths, and she moans, then jumps a little at the unexpected burn of stubble along the back of her hip. But she doesn't have the capacity anymore to try to reason out if this will help her to figure out who is who. Both pairs of hands are between her legs, now. Two hands squeeze her buttocks, but they don't seem to both belong to the same person. The fingers of another hand are moving in and out inside her, and the fourth hand occupies itself with her swollen clit, rubbing it in rapid circles.

Lights flare and fade behind her lids, behind the blindfold, and she's aware of everything – not just their touches, goading her into an orgasm - but also the way everything else feels. House's comforter under her hands and knees, the sweat on her skin, the juices dripping down her legs, the tension building in her muscles.

The pleasure suddenly reaches its peak, searing through her, and she cries out. Gives in to both of them, presses back against their working hands. She sinks down onto the bed when it's done, muscles no longer obeying her, trying to catch her breath.

However, they're impatient. Hands take hold of her and reposition her once again. They place her on her back, arrange her limp arms and legs against the mattress. For a few minutes, though, they both lie against her, one on either side of her. House is on her right – she can feel the roughness of his cheek as he rests his head against her shoulder, the different textures of his jeans and shirt against her bare skin. And she's pretty sure it's his gloved hand on her belly, gently stroking her flesh. And Jim is on her left, his fingers toying with strands of her hair, as he presses soft kisses all over her face, around the blindfold.

But then they're moving again, leaving her alone in the center of the bed. Not for long, however. There's the sound of drawers opening – just how many sexual accessories _does_ House keep in there? – and then someone releases her wrists, flexes her arms carefully.

But her freedom is short-lived. Another quick quiet conference occurs between the two of them. She feels both pairs of hands, one on each leg, taking off her shoes, and then peeling her stockings slowly off of her – and even sated as she is, she fights the urge to squirm again. Then someone is wrapping some kind of binding – rope, she thinks – around her ankles, while the other someone moves to the head of the bed and mirrors the action on her wrists.

When they're done, she's spread wide on the bed. Her wrists are tied together above her head and secured to the headboard, her feet pointing to opposite corners at the foot of the bed. She squirms a little, testing the bonds, but she can barely move. It's done. She belongs to both of them, now. Completely. And this is what she wants.

There's a few moments where the only sound is rustling, and she realizes they're both finally stripping off their own clothes. The blindfold is slipped off her face, and she has to squint for a few seconds, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light in the room. Yes, they're both (finally) naked. She can't resist examining each of them, looking at the differences. House sinewy, scarred, his sparse body hair equal measures dark and grey. Jim is well-toned but softer, somehow, darker, hairier. And both of them are aroused.

They stand there, looking down at her, towering over her. House looks like he wants to eat her alive, and Jim looks fairly pleased with himself. And she smiles, amused at the expressions on both their faces. And thinks that she's really glad that she decided to do this with both of them.

She watches as House turns to Jim. "See? What did I tell you? She looks _good_ like that, trussed up on my bed. I love it when I'm right." Jim just smirks and rolls his eyes.

House limps heavily back to his chair. She feels a pang of compassion for him, seeing the lines etched on his face as he slowly lowers himself back into it. He produces his Vicodin bottle from somewhere like a magician doing a trick, and swallows – one pill? two? He's too fast for her to tell – dry. He notices her watching, and his face goes suddenly flat and expressionless. He doesn't want her to see him as weak.

Still, just when she's starting to worry that maybe she's spoiling the mood for him, House gets this evil gleam in his eye and leans back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Jimmy," he drawls, "This old man needs a break. Entertain our lovely visitor, would you?"

Jim is on the bed in a flash. He leans over her, kisses her, reaches out to touch her cheek with light fingertips. He's blocking her view of House once again, but she can still feel those cyan eyes locked on her, on them, nonetheless. She can't help wondering if he plans to 'diagnose' their sexual performance.

"Move, Jimmy, I can't see." House complains behind Jim's back. This earns another eye-rolling response from Jim, but he complies, shifting over until he's on the side of her opposite from House. "Just don't hold up any scorecards or anything," he shoots back at his friend.

"Don't worry, I know you're still 'in training'. All those sexless nights at the Wilson household for the last few years. Makes a man _rusty_."

She glances over at Jim, wonders if House has pushed too far, too hard. But Jim obviously isn't paying attention. He's too busy shifting position, again, moving so that his throbbing erection is within reach of her. If she stretches her neck up. "Allison," Jim asks, a cute blush heating his face, "Would you-?"

She would. Most definitely. She stretches up, licking along the underside of his shaft. She relishes the slightly salty taste of his skin, the way he gasps, the way he quivers against her lips. Her neck gives out quickly, but Jim helpfully slides an extra pillow under her head. With the leisure to tease him, now, she licks circles on his hot skin, presses soft biting kisses up and down the length of him, brushes her lips lightly against the head of his shaft. She's aware of House's eyes on her, drinking in everything, and she puts in extra efforts, makes a show for her viewing public. When she glances over at him at one point, he's busy stroking himself, obviously imagining her mouth on his shaft doing exactly the same things. And when he leers at her, she deliberately lets her tongue play the length of Jim once more.

Finally, however, Jim pulls back from her. He catches the condom House pegs at him (also taken from the trusty dresser drawer), and positions himself between her bound legs. Once he's prepared, he meets her gaze once more. "Allison, are you ready?" he asks softly. She doesn't trust her voice, so she just nods.

He slides into her, using slow gentle strokes, and she tries to arch, tries to meet him. She tugs at her bonds, moaning at the feel of him inside her, at the slow relentless pushing. His hands are on her, too, thumbs teasing her nipples, then sliding over her belly and to her hips, as he starts to move faster. And still, House's eyes are on them, his hand moving on himself in time with their motions.

She's getting close to the edge again, when Jim groans loudly and spills himself inside her. He collapses against her for a moment, their sweaty skin sliding together, and kisses her deeply once more. They lie there for a long moment, both catching their breath.

There's the creak of his chair, as House stands up again. "My turn, Jimmy-Boy." Jim kisses her a final time, first on the lips, and then on the forehead, and then rolls off of her, leaving her to House.

House limps slowly to the foot of the bed while Jimmy moves off to take his chair, and she once again watches House watching her. When he gets to his destination, he pauses and rolls a condom onto himself, still watching her. Devouring her with his eyes. And she makes sure to smirk at him, to squirm a little against her bonds. She wants more, wants him, and she wants him to _know_ it.

He crawls slowly up the bed towards her, awkward from trying to keep most of his weight off of his bad thigh. Soon enough he's between her legs, sliding into her with no preamble of any kind. But it doesn't matter.

He's different from Jim, again. He moves in short sharp thrusts, leaning his weight on her and on his elbows, and his stubble burns her as he rubs it against a nipple, before taking the offended tip into his mouth to soothe and tease.

She wants to continue watching him, but it's becoming too much. She squeezes her eyes shut, pushing her hips as much as she can against his rough thrusts. She groans and gasps, a large part of her still not believing that it's House between her legs, shoving hard inside her.

His own breaths are ragged against her chest, as he finds a way to push-roll himself off her just enough to slide a hand between them, pressing hard against her clit. And she throws her head back and _screams_, her orgasm going through her in one great wave. She's anchored to the bed, pinned under House, but somehow, as the pleasure curls through her, she's also soaring, swept away…

She comes back to herself, House limp against her. He must've climaxed himself, and she missed it, somehow. Will she get to experience this again? The thought comes from nowhere, tormenting her.

What if she tests positive? And just like that, all her good feelings are gone.

She doesn't even realize she's crying. There's the snapping sound of a latex glove being removed, and then a gentle, callused hand comes up, brushing the moisture from her cheeks. She turns her head, trying to hide that weakness from House. It's safe to show that side to Jim, but she doesn't – ever – want House to see her cry. Once over the centrifuge was enough. More than enough, really.

But she can't seem to stop. The tears keep leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She feels House get off the bed, and then he and Jim untie her. As soon as she can, she rolls onto her side, turns her back on House. But she also tries not to look at Jim, either. She doesn't want his comfort, now. Not in front of House. She shuts her eyes, wishing she still had the blindfold on.

Someone pads off to the bathroom, while the other someone turns off the lights and pulls the covers out from under her. She hears them trade off, the other person leaving while a warm body gets into bed behind her. She's forcibly rolled over and pulled against them, and at first, her eyes still squeezed shut, she's sure it must be Jim. House would have no interest in cuddling her, especially not while she's leaking from the eyes. But a chin glances against her forehead as he settles her against his chest, and the skin is too rough to be Jim's.

Another warm body – it _must_ be Jim, this time - slides in behind her, and she's sandwiched between them, cradled in their warmth. House is still wiping the tears from her face. "It's OK," he rumbles in the dark, startling her even further. "You don't get to be inhuman, that's _my _gig. So cry if you need to."

But her tears are drying up. She's not _alone_, she realizes. House is still here, he hasn't booted her out of his apartment. Or even his bed. And Jim is here, too.

House leans in, kisses her. And she can feel Jim's mouth on the back of her neck. Amazingly, she's getting drowsy. Two orgasms, and being surrounded by the body heat of two men, is proving suddenly very soporific. She has to struggle to focus on his words when Jim adds, "We're here. _Both_ of us. The chances of you testing positive are very very small, but we'll be here. No matter what the result."

But the last of her fears wane only after House adds, quietly, "And don't worry. I promised you an all-day oral party. I _always_ keep my promises."

She lets herself fall asleep.


End file.
